The ways we pave
by KafkaMetamorphosis
Summary: Naruto Uzumaki, twenty years old. Wholly unremarkable, galaxy-wise, besides the fact that his father is Senator of the Galactic Senate. That is about to change. Might makes right, and he possesses it in abundance. Followed by a brat who should really shut his damn mouth most of the time, he sets about to play the Galactic game. Uzumaki-style, of course.


His skin had the odd thick and coarse quality which inapt tanning left as aftereffects on leather. The smell went hand in hand, combining the lingering odor of exotic spices with the putrefaction of a necrotized skin. His rags - for his weird get-up made every other designation obsolete and an affront to good taste - were sticking to his membrane, joined by the detestable mix of abundant sweating, and the secretions of the sparse glands covering his torso.

It was not a charitable thought, but Naruto judged that he was not pleasant to see. No matter, in the end, it was not for aesthetical considerations that he maintained this friendly - and interested- relation, but for the goods the other had the clever way to acquire surreptitiously. Assuredly, his purveyor talent was inversely proportional to his beauty.

Bah, who was he to judge?

Artistic sensibility aside, the blonde swept with a semi-curious, semi-reproachful glance to the trinkets heaped in the backroom which he could see beyond the hunchbacked shoulder of the creature. He was quasi-sure that the practice of collecting shrunken skulls was, if not illegal, of awful taste.

The creature's googly eyes were observing him with the characteristic apathy of individuals of his species. Apathy, which nonetheless smothered a hostility that, if provoked, could very well show its crooked teeth.

"What do you want?" his interlocutor asked drily, gazing down on him.

"Do I need a reason to visit my old friend?" replied Naruto, a playful smile stretching his face while his eyes left aside the shop to concentrate on the Quagon.

"If you run into them, send them my regards," snarked the creature, "here, there is only one dweller, the apothecary. And my only friends, are credits. At least, they don't speak ill of nobody."

Naruto brought a hand to his chest in fake contrition and said with pique, "And I who thought that after all this time spent walking down the sandy slopes of this one-horse town, a bond had been made. Tell me, you're always flirting with the law, you don't happen to have something from the dark side of the legal spectrum?" asked Naruto, with some modicum of seriousness.

The Quagon stroked his swollen face with a tridactyl hand, "You're a lifer illegal?"

The blonde winced, "Rather, you leave your house feet first - illegal."

A smile, which unquestionably was not pleasant, was on the Quagon's face, "I've got what you want. Toko! Go and fetch the artifact!"

A boy, whom one would painstakingly give ten summers, he was so puny, entered the room, leaving behind the backroom. He was probably taking inventory of the goods, given the notebook he was holding in his clumsy hand.

He had the wild, rugged look of these boys out of the bush, a little soft in the head, that an autarkic life had rendered gauche regarding social conventions. His head bobbed and, numbly, he went to turn every rock of the backroom hither, thither and yon in his quest for the said artifact.

After a minute of heavy silence, to say the least, the apothecary's blood began to boil.

"Will you hurry up?!" shouted the venerable and pot-bellied Quagon.

"I have it!" answered the lad hastily, brandishing triumphantly that which, at first sight, looked like a fob. He rushed in their direction, narrowly missing a stumble in his haste to reach them, but managed to deliver the merchandise without much hassle.

"What is it, Sir?" the kid asked Naruto, astounded and still in a daze.

"This is my ticket to posterity," the blonde answered with a grin emulating solar radiance.

"It's rather a moratorium on the gallows if you want my guess. What do I know, money has no smell," the Quagon answered evasively.

Naruto took the metal piece delicately, inspecting it from every angle with a careful eye, "You're sure this works, this thing?" he asked with unveiled skepticism.

The Quagon was outraged. He crossed his massive, pudgy arms over his oozing torso, creasing further his patchwork shirt, "How many times have I told you, yes, everything I sell works, and in the worst case, if it doesn't, you will be wholly refunded, with interest. Short accounts make long friends, as I have always said."

I thought you had no friends, Naruto thought idly. He hummed, paying attention to the apothecary only a brief instant to settle price and pay for his new acquisition. Once it was done, he bowed his head and left the shop. He took a big gulp of the fresh air once the threshold was behind him, which did him a world of good. The smell inside was insidious. Added to that the stifling heat and the noise of the various machines pumping and spitting out suspect liquids, it was hellish.

Gripping tightly the wonder of technology, which he kept in the pocket of his pants, he was caught daydreaming about the future.

Mediocrity had never been in his blood. And what made his heart beat, in the end, was the thrill of adventure. Some would say his head was too empty or rather filled to the brim with dreams that being a productive member of society was beyond his aspirations. They would not be really wrong in this regard. And if woke up each morning at first light to practice martial arts and Jutsu, it was not to rot behind a desk. Attractive as it might be, the Hokage thing had not the luster which a fight to the death against evil evocated.

His sharpened senses caught footsteps heading toward him. He smiled, and when he turned around, he was not surprised to find the boy from the shop.

"Toko, right?" he asked to have some small talk going.

The kid hesitated a moment, then nodded, his red mid-length hair waving with the movement. He bit his lower lip, gnawing on it, then opened his mouth as if to say something, before closing it with an abrupt snap.

"Walk with me?" offered Naruto.

Cue nod and they were treading the sandy roads slithering through the village in dereliction. There was a reason why the apothecary conducted his paralegal transactions here, he thought with good humor.

He cast a sidelong glance to the red-head, his wary eyes categorizing the posture, the tension of the shoulders, the shadows under the eyes. The thinness. His clothes, much too loose-fitted, whose only function was to cover his modesty. No personal belongings.

Naruto's lips thinned, his eyes hardening. He was not a slave. He was a starving boy. Some street urchin who, to keep the wolf from the door, toiled away. Most probably an orphan, or a lad whose parents had forsaken the burden, from a lack of money. The world was not ideal, far from it, and the parody of peace could only scarcely cover the terrible reality.

As these dark thoughts were haunting his mind, the boy finally asked his question.

"Say, Mister, what's a moratorium? And posterity?" Toko asked with all the infantile candidness of boys his age.

Naruto laughed at the unexpected question.

Naruto stretched his pained muscles, wincing when his back creaked. He should be careful, you can't win a race at the quarter pole.

He contemplated the skies from behind the glass. For a scant instant. As if the firmament was hiding in its bosom the answers to all his unasked questions. He watched the nimbus, bending and sailing to new horizons. Peacefully.

A strong gust of wind, an eastward wind blew suddenly, the solemn ebony trees buckling under the weight.

The winds of change had begun to blow, and the womb of revolution was aching.

His fingers tightened against the shed's window.

The sole question was where the spark would be lit.

He had some ideas, but if he were to be stuck with an untrained brat, the task would be more arduous than expected. And Naruto hated himself for having, for a mere second, had this thought. Casting out the vestiges of the austere pragmatism his father had instilled in him, an absurd comparison came to his mind.

The boy's hair, red like wine, had reminded him of his mother's.

His mother had an astonishing beauty, which you couldn't doubt, and even the most pious of monks would sing the Nianfo, head on her thighs, were she to let him. But her eyes, beautiful purple orbs, had for only focus her husband and son, for whom she held a wild and holy devotion.

Regarding his father... It was a complicated business. He had been Hokage, then he became Senator, relegating the governance of Konoha to Kakashi. He had always been a severe man, righteous to a fault. A man who, however, had always kept a spot in his life for fun, with a comfortable smile often curving his lips. This had changed once he had become Hokage, then almost disappeared with his senatorial functions.

Furrows had been dug in his forehead, and his bright hair had begun to grey, well before his time. Stress was the culprit. Bring peace with the pen, not by the sword in your hand, was his leitmotiv. It was a philosophy which Naruto could appreciate, but not one which he would instead apply.

Not that the blonde was a warmonger, but he thought that all these treaties and peace offerings had no more worth than the paper upon which they had been penned. A dissuasive force had the advantage of... dissuading people, as the name indicated. Much more potent than an umpteenth protocol.

Coaxing and cajoling the crown with slick speech, as one would congratulate an attention-starved child, that wasn't for him. It hadn't been like his father either until he became a known voice in the galaxy.

Maybe it was the cause of their swiftly dwindling number of conversations these last few years until they cut ties two years ago.

Of course, he missed him. It was his father. That wasn't the question...

The last clouds had been driven out, revealing a full and radiant moon illuminating the evensong sky with its silver beams.

He hid a yawn behind his hand. The day had been long, especially the trip to this shithole, west of Suna. He headed toward Toko's room, his steps more silent and furtive than a feline's, barely audible. Occupational hazard.

The bed was unmade and cruelly empty.

His blood froze in his veins, a weird feeling of falling or to some extent drowning making him use the wall as support before he took back the reins of his body. No time for this bullshit. Focusing Chakra in his lower body, with a sudden gesture, he opened the window - it was the closest-, breaking the latch and leaping like a Branch Leopard seeking its prey.

Did this boy not know? This part of the world was a veritable breeding ground for bandits of all sorts.

Naruto's hands tightened until they brought him pain.

A story like Rin's happening again? Under his very eyes?

They would have to step over his cooling body before anything happened.

Toko observed the surrounding with a hefty measure of apprehension. Everything looked alike everywhere. It was getting late, and the chill of the night had begun to gnaw on his skin and bones. His hands rubbed the thin clothes barely protecting his freezing cold skin from the damned winds, aiming to generate some heat. But the warmth was proving to be mission almost impossible.

What kind of dumb thought had struck him, stepping out, at this time, alone, of a shed far removed from civilization? He knew that he wasn't the brightest bulb, but this was reaching Stupidity Astounding.

But it wasn't his fault, really! Well, a little, but at first he had gone to look for the restroom. The shed had none, so he had settled on doing his thing outside. He had wanted to warn Naruto, but the man had a look so... He couldn't put the finger on it. Anyhow, he felt that it wasn't the time to interrupt his thoughts, and the needs were becoming urgent.

So, he had left his room using the door, closing it behind him, discreetly, and had gone a little way from the house to alleviate his aching bladder. Until then, no problem.

On the back, he had found a kind of desert raccoon, which was watching him with big curious eyes. It was beyond his control, he went to play with it. What did you expect, it had been so long since he had done only that; playing, without worrying about the apothecary's admonitions. Then he had not paid much attention. And, little by little, he had gotten farther away from the way back home.

When he had realized it, it had already been too late.

So, there he was, freezing, famished and afraid, and he was going to die here like a dumb nobody.

Toko continued walking without paying much attention to his steps, convinced that, in any case, he was done for and nothing would change that fact.

The smell was the first thing which caught his attention, then the black wisps of smoke rising in the horizon. Then loud voices ahead, a mirage ensnaring his senses.

People!

He rushed toward the campfire, stumbling and rolling in the sand, but immediately got up. He waved his arms and screamed as loud as he could to draw the travelers' attention.

His disarray and lousy luck would finally end!

They were three, and all were clad in merchant clothes. He couldn't see a caravan nearby, which he found strange for a short while, but the smell of meat slowly cooking in its fat made his mind stutter to a halt. They were kneeling around the fire. A kind of desert animal he couldn't identify was skewered, and two of the men rotated the spit while the third, the largest and tallest, was blowing on the embers to fan them. Toko's mouth filled with saliva, which he loudly swallowed.

The men looked away from the delicious-looking food and looked at the newcomer with amused, perplex and hard eyes respectively.

"What do you want, brat?" the tallest asked curtly. His face was scarred, an incredible number of gashes crowning his head and neck like so many war trophies.

Toko gulped with difficulty. "Sir, where do these scars come from?" the redhead asked.

"Ah, this," said the man while rubbing his scarred face, "this comes from my service in the army. I was a soldier before being a merchant, see?"

The two other men snickered but quickly went to take out the rightly roasted animal from the spit when confronted with the dark gaze of the tallest.

Shaking his head, he resumed, "Don't mind the assholes over there, they couldn't find water in the ocean. You wanna join us?" he said, nodding toward the game.

Toko accepted without reservation. The meal was delicious, especially considering his empty stomach. Once he had his fill, Toko rubbed at his belly, blissfully happy.

The Captain, that's how the two other called Scarface, took a sip of the sake from Rice Country before wiping his mouth irreverently with the back of his hand.

"Ah, that's what I call the good life. So, let's get straight to business. Namely how you'll pay for the meal."

Toko's eyes widened. Pay? But he... But he had no money! His cheeks reddened. His hands played with his pants fabric nervously.

"I don't have any money," he confessed, embarrassed.

The Captain scratched his shaven head. "This is a problem. You know, we aren't volunteers. And it's not by doing charity that we earn coins; on the contrary, it serves to dilapidate them," the two other men snickered.

"Captain, you know, we are traders. We could settle that with understanding and trust. You know, the usual to-and-fro," said the smallest, who was frankly rat-faced. Toko would call him like this, it was easier to remember than Saku-whatever.

"Traders yes, but slave traders. It's a bonanza to see merchandise offering themselves to us," said the last member of the trio.

Toko tried to run, but it had already been anticipated by the Captain. His hand rushed toward Toko with the alacrity of a viper taking a bite of their prey.

"Touch even one strand of his hair, and I flay your hand, layer after painful layer," a voice colder than a glacier threatened. No, it wasn't a threat. That was how it was going to be. There was no 'or else.'

The Captain shivered. He had stopped moving the moment an honest-to-god tsunami of Killing Intent drowned them. Besides, it wasn't the voice of a killer. It was a demon's.

Toko opened the eyes he had closed while waiting for the impact. His baby blue eyes filled with uncovered joy with the sight of the tall blonde he identified, without much difficulty, as being Naruto. He was standing a few feet away from the group, his hands spinning Kunai with prodigal dexterity.

Faster than lightning, he threw the weapons, aiming for the Captain and the Rat. Both avoided the blades by rushing in opposite directions. That left the last member of the group woefully alone.

The redhead couldn't believe his eyes, but all of a sudden, there were four blonds standing side by side. Two of them resumed throwing projectiles, Kunai and Shuriken, while the two remaining headed inexorably toward the child and the last bandit.

"What a dumbass, does he really believe this amounts to something?" laughed the Rat, but he was hardpressed to avoid and parry the thrown weapons.

"Idiot, he seeks to separate us!" shouted the Captain.

Even if he knew it, he could barely avoid the storm of steel rushing toward him, much less think about regrouping. Cold sweat rolled down his brow. And this was just one Kage Bunshin? What kind of monster did they poke?

The real Naruto was beside Toko. He laid a reassuring hand on the lad's shoulder. He felt all of Toko's being unwound itself with this gesture. He smiled calmly, trying to convey 'Everything is going to be alright.' The non-verbal communication seemed to do the trick since he reciprocated the smile.

With a few hand seals, a thick mist invaded the premises.

"Moron! Kirigakure no Jutsu against a Jonin from Kiri. You have a death wish?!" the smothered voice of the Kiri Nukenin managed to reach them, barely.

Naruto laughed lowly. The goal was merely to make it so that Toko did not see and mostly did not hear the slaughter he was about to unleash. He said nothing and his Kage Bunshing dashed toward the Jonin with a speed which would have made a Kage blush at their inadequacy.

The clone drew out a tantô from his back, channeling Wind Chakra into the weapon. The energy was so thick and concentrated it was dissipating the dense fog around it. The terrible blow he delivered met with a Kunai, which his blade slid right through like a warm knife through butter. Then he cut through flesh and bone, eliciting a scream of pain from the Mist Nukenin. Screaming which was quickly silenced by an angry fist which struck thrice. The first blow shattered the Jonin's jaw, the second hit his nose and would no doubt lead to a concussion. The last one slammed into the guy's temple, smashing his skull.

The Jonin fell like a puppet with its strings cut off.

The Bunshin and the mist dissipated, only leaving on the scene an inert body in an awkward position, whose right arm had been neatly severed.

The two other Nukenin had managed to regroup and had gotten rid of their attacker. They were huffing and puffing, bloody wounds covering their skin.

"What do you want? If it's the kid, you can have him! Fuck!" screamed the scarred one.

"Captain! Look at Kosuke, he..." the Rat gulped, his face turning slightly greenish.

The Captain only spared a cursory glance before his body shook with unadulterated rage. He raised a trembling fist and shouted with the depth of his soul,

"Is this any sort of Justice? Or rather might makes right, ain't it?!"

"You will find no justice here. Only death," Naruto spat, eyes becoming burning scarlet and catlike.

"Jin-jinchuriki !" gasped the Rat. A sudden hand gesture and the Rat fell face-first, his unseeing gaze fixated on the sand below.

Toko gasped. "That was your comrade! Why did you do that?" he questioned or more accurately demanded.

The Captain chuckled drily. "It's because he's my comrade. The least I could do is grant him a painless death. I knew I recognized those whiskers... Facing the Junchuuriki of the Kyuubi, how unlucky could we get?" he laughed maniacally, before shaking his head and facing his doom with all the resolve and steadfastness of a man of his stature.

"Do your worst," he spat, offering no sort of resistance.

Naruto did some hand seals, took a deep breath and breathed out the most magnificent Fire Dragon the Captain had ever seen.

Flee on sight, huh? Not too shabby... that was the last thought the Captain had before he was engulfed by the fiery brazier.


End file.
